


Misslich

by Anna_Hopkins



Series: October, 2019 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Gen, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Mentor/Protégé, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anna_Hopkins/pseuds/Anna_Hopkins
Summary: "This year," Dumbledore paused for effect, "Hogwarts welcomes its first visiting professor from outside Britain in over fifty years: Professor Markus Misslich of Durmstrang Institute."...Maybe,Harry dared to hope,sixth year will work out after all.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry peered up at the Head Table over his plateful of 'welcoming feast', scanning the occupants of the seats there for the third time. "Merlin," he muttered, "Snape's missing. You don't think he...?"

"Got the Defense post and is going to make a dramatic entrance?" Ron intuited. He was always on Harry's wavelength when it came to Snape.

Hermione rolled her eyes, shushing them. "Professor Dumbledore's about to speak."

Even from this distance, it was easy to see the black, withered hand hanging limply at the headmaster's side. Harry had last seen Dumbledore during the Slughorn retrieval (the successful retrieval, apparently, given all that had happened on the train here). The twinkle in Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes had returned, compared to that time at least. Harry hoped it meant he was recovering.

"...Professor Snape is on sabbatical this year, developing an optimized Wolfsbane Potion," the old wizard was saying -- Harry perked up in his seat, surprised. "Professor Horace Slughorn has generously agreed to come out of his retirement for the year and return to his place as Hogwarts' Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. Please welcome him back to our hallowed halls."

The applause was, notably, coming primarily from the table in green. It didn't surprise Harry, per se, given how the portly wizard "collected" people. Obviously the news of his "club" had already permeated House gossip.

"Which brings us to the yet-empty position of Hogwarts' Defense professor, that you all have surely begun to wonder about. This year," Dumbledore paused for effect, "Hogwarts welcomes its first visiting professor from outside Britain in over fifty years: Professor Markus Misslich of Durmstrang Institute. _ Doktor _ Misslich, I believe you wished to say a few words?"

Every face in the hall turned to the wizard now rising from his seat in the middle of the table. Honey-blond, wavy hair framed the man's -- Misslich's -- round, boyish face, blue eyes peering out over the crowd. He was, Harry observed, objectively very pretty, especially when a shy blush turned his cheeks rosy. When the applause for the wizard finished, he spoke, voice musical:

"I thank you for tsis varm velcome," he began, German accent sibilant and much more polished than Karkaroff's had been. "It is mein hope that tse year vill be both educational und enjoyable for all students. I am very eager to foster talent in every one of you."

As Misslich sat down again, Harry was one of the first to applaud a second time -- he already liked Misslich, he could tell. The man had given the very opposite of Umbridge's speech from last year.

_ Maybe, _ Harry dared to hope, _ sixth year will work out after all. _

His hope only grew as the student schedules were handed out on Monday. "Defense four days out of five," Ron gaped. "He's going to run us ragged --"

"Oh!" Hermione interrupted, beaming. "It's the Durmstrang system! Viktor was telling me about this last year." She ignored Ron's mouthing 'Viktor?', waving her parchment excitedly. "There's two or three days of lecture and one or two days of demonstration -- I think -- it's going to be great," she insisted, "you'll like it, Ron, there's very little homework --"

That had the redhead's attention. Harry scanned his schedule again while his friends' conversation devolved into bickering over the value of homework. Misslich had scheduled afternoon lessons on Mondays and Tuesdays, three out of four time blocks on Wednesdays, and one morning session on Thursdays -- leaving Fridays through Sundays empty. Today, being Monday, was an afternooner.

_ Intensive Defense. _ Honestly, Harry couldn't wait.

The Defense classroom had been moved to a third-floor area Harry was quite sure had previously held the Cerberus -- it was huge, and seats were arranged around the room like a massive lecture hall. Harry realized, taking a seat in the front, that he might possibly be excited to learn, just a little bit.

He was surprised when the other students began to file in -- not just Gryffindors and Slytherins, but Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs too. They spread out in cliques around the room; besides him and Hermione, nobody else dared sit in the very first row. Chatter among the sixth-years cut off abruptly as their professor glided into the room in tight-fitting white robes, taking up a position on the raised section of floor where a podium might have been, were anyone else teaching the class.

Misslich smiled at them all, brightening the room with a wandless gesture.

"So," he spoke, at a conversational volume that nonetheless reached them all clearly, _"mein_ sixth-year students. Today I will get to know you, hm? _ Aber _ first, you should know _ me." _

He swept his arms out, looking, for all his golden hair and white robes and wide-eyed expression, like a Muggle angel. "_ Ich heisse _ Markus Misslich, Department Chair of Magical Theory and Co-Chair of Applied Magic at Durmstrang Institute. I am spending this year on sabbatical, much like your professor...Snape, was it?" A few students nodded.

"My specialty und research focus lies in the world's most obscure, most dangerous magics; Britannia simply calls them 'dark arts', but there is a broad range of spells in that category which I will cover this _ jahr." _

Misslich began conjuring spheres of colored light from his palms which grew larger as they floated overhead. "Temporary to permanent," he listed, calling up light and dark blue spheres; "weak to strong," pale pink to bright red, "stable to unstable," orange to yellow, "harmless to fatal." Dark green to the bright green of the Killing Curse.

"Much of magic, by British definitions, is dark; I will not pretend to believe it should all be hidden away like some Britons do. _ However!" _ The sharpness in his tone made Harry and most everyone else flinch, simultaneously cutting off any student commentary on the rather political statement he'd just made. Harry found himself at the edge of his seat, leaning forward to listen -- and he was not the only one.

"As with any dangerous tsing, common sense und basic safety are paramount. We vill explore many dangerous things in zis room, _ ja? _ You need not fear them."

Hermione put her hand in the air, expression perturbed. "Professor Misslich," she asked, "aren't dark arts banned for a reason?"

Misslich made a thoughtful gesture, peering at her. "Ah, I see, I see. I forget that Britannia teaches such views to its students. It is a valid concern, do not misunderstand," he placated, "but you need not vorry. I am much unlike those professors of zis subject who came before me -- indeed I shall demonstrate mein ability in advance. _ Achtung! _ Observe!"

He drew his wand from his sleeve and spun several circles in the air over his head. On the sixth or seventh rotation, the end of the wand erupted in a great gout of flame -- burning every color of the rainbow -- that began to take the shapes of shifting animals.

"Zis," Misslich proclaimed, "is Fiendfyre!" Students gasped, some flinching back; a few were, by the sound of it, getting out of their seats to run. "Your Ministry claims it is uncontrollable. They are mistaken. It is only very difficult."

He gestured sharply with his wand, and the hellhounds and tigers and wolves and dragons, their teeth snapping inches from Harry's nose -- in the heat of their proximity, sweat had beaded on his temples and trailed down the side of his face -- pulled back, consolidating into a bright blue-white orb on the end of Misslich's wand. As everyone blinked away the spots in their vision, the orb cooled down to yellow, then orange, then red, until it had finally faded to nothing. Only a lingering scent of ozone filled the air in its wake to show it had ever been.

Misslich returned his wand to his sleeve while the class sat, stunned, at the display. "If you are impressed," the wizard murmured, "do not be -- _ more than half of you can learn to do the same through practice!" _ He gestured dramatically, sparks flying from outstretched fingertips. "Tsis is only _ one _ example of the talent I might foster in you, students.

"And now, having seen what I can do," Misslich's expression shifted into a genial smile, "all of you -- show me what _ you _ can do! Your favorite magic. Your best magic. We will have duelling in my classes once veekly; today, I call for demonstration."

A warm breeze swept through the room, overturning parchment and closing books. Misslich laughed, a charming, bell-like sound, and pointed to the students in the back row. "No notes now. Each of you," he called, "to the front here -- tell us your favorite magic, and demonstrate what you are best at! Und," he winked, "if you suspect your classmates do not recognize you after a summer away, your name, hm?"

It was odd for Harry to realize that he really didn't recognize a lot of the students outside of Gryffindor and Slytherin. Many Ravenclaws in the middle seats, Harry couldn't recall having once met, even.

And had there always been so many kinds of magic? Illusions, art spells, protective amulets, a potion for liquid luck; one Ravenclaw adored the enchantments believed to be on the House founder's lost diadem and was working to replicate them. Misslich had not specified that their favorite magic had to be cast with wands, after all.

Harry felt a surge of pride, too, whenever anyone chose the Patronus as their best spell. DA members, the lot of them; they would glance in his direction as if seeking his approval.

Then, it was Harry's turn to stand, Hermione at his side. They were the last two.

"My favorite magic," declared Hermione, "is the wardwork powering the Hogwarts library. In Ancient Runes, we've been examining the arrays -- it's terribly complex, and works in perfect harmony despite centuries of additions and changes from later librarians --" she paused, realizing she'd begun to monologue. "My best spell," Harry's friend continued after a beat, "is the Undetectable Expansion Charm." To demonstrate, she promptly turned out one pocket of her robes -- to reveal no less than ten textbooks, two inkwells, and a bag of Kneazle treats, blushing at the applause that drew from the Ravenclaws in particular.

Then she returned to her seat, and there was just Harry.

"My favorite magic," he hesitated, "is blood magic." Before anyone could comment, he hastily added, "it's how my mum protected me -- I'm not _ doing _ blood magic!" Merlin, that would have been an awful rumor. "My best magic is probably the Patronus too. I drove off a whole swarm of dementors, once." Without much thought, he cast the spell, and let the stag gallop a circuit around the room.

Misslich nodded, gesturing to Harry to return to his seat. "_ Sehr gut, _ all of you," the professor exclaimed. "We will begin discussing magical theory tomorrow. For now, you are all dismissed -- und yes, I know it is earlier than scheduled. Perhaps you will find time to ask each other about the spells you have in common?" He snapped his fingers and the lights in the classroom dimmed to normal. Students began to pack their satchels, murmuring amongst themselves and casting glances at each other as if they meant to take Misslich's advice. Harry was just lifting his satchel onto his shoulder when Professor MIsslich approached his desk. "Mister Potter, Miss Granger," he greeted in turn, "ein excellent closing performance today." A smile to Hermione, who smiled sheepishly back.

"Ach, I digress. Mister Potter, please remain behind a moment."

Hermione nodded, stepping toward the door. "See you in the Tower," she said to Harry, which meant she would wait for him in the library instead, and made her way out of the classroom.

Now it was just Harry and Misslich in the room. "Walk vith me to my office, Mr. Potter?" Misslich waited for Harry to fall in step before setting a leisurely pace down the hall, stopping at a hidden passageway Harry had sometimes used in the past. The one-floor descent took less than a minute; very shortly, they were crossing the threshold into Misslich's office.

It was indeed the same office granted to each Defense professor, over the years, and Harry had seen some rather nauseating decorations in the room before (Lockhart and Umbridge came to mind), but there were no kitten plates or pink wallpapers now. Misslich had a fire lit in the fireplace, a wall of bookshelves surrounding the mantel, and two large leather armchairs facing each other across a low, round table. His desk was already piled high with books, scrolls and parchment. And in one corner, Harry was surprised to spot a polished gramophone on a small table with what looked like vinyl records on a shelf underneath. It was _ cozy, _ and felt very much like a professor's office ought to, he thought.

"Please, have a seat," said Misslich, crossing the room to a large wooden cabinet on a far wall. Ever cautious, Harry took the chair closer to the door, the better to watch Misslich from as well. He wasn't sure what to expect from the German wizard just yet, and what Misslich retrieved from the cabinet only confused him more.

"Biscuits, Mr. Potter?" he asked, setting the dish of them on the table. A tea set appeared beside it moments later, courtesy of Hogwarts house-elves, no doubt. Having had previous experiences with tea in this office of varying pleasantness, Harry took a teacup, and a biscuit, but did not partake, for the moment.

"Er, you can call me Harry, sir," he thought to say, feeling awkward.

Misslich only smiled that sunshiney smile at him again, sipping his tea. "As you wish, Harry. I vould like to assuage any worries about being called here on ze first day -- I merely vished to speak with you before the term truly begins."

Harry nodded. "All right."

"Ah! It is not because of your fame," Misslich hastened to add. He seemed almost flustered.

_ If not that, then what? _ Harry wondered, but did not ask. Fortunately, the professor answered that question in his next sentence.

"Vhen I arrived for tsis year, Albus informed me of your defense club from last year -- und it is quite _ klar _ which students benefitted from your help, ja?" Misslich sipped his tea again. "As I said -- it is mein goal to foster talent in all students, including you, Harry."

"...Sir?"

Misslich set his teacup down, leaning forward in his chair. "It is _ sehr _ important to me tsat mein brightest students are not held back by the rest. Hogwarts is not large enough to justify a gifted students program, you understand? Und so I vill be available always for extracurricular study and practice."

Was Misslich saying Harry was...talented? He averted his eyes to the floor, embarrassed. "If you want talented students, Professor, my friend Hermione is a lot more qualified than I am --"

The wizard laughed a little laugh, just as melodic as the one from before. "Make no mistake, Harry, I _ will _ be giving this advice to Miss Granger and plenty of others as the term progresses. But you are mistaken to consider yourself untalented. We faculty do discuss students, from time to time, und it is unanimous that Defense is your best subject. You do enjoy it, do you not?" Harry looked up to meet his blue gaze, finding Misslich honestly curious, eyebrows raised.

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted, "I guess I do."

Misslich reached out to pat him on the shoulder, very lightly, telegraphing the motion as he went like he thought Harry might cringe away from the touch. "Und tsat is all you need, to begin with."

Just then, the bell rang to mark the end of the class period. Misslich sat back in his chair, summoning his teacup and another biscuit off the table again. "Please consider the opportunity for extra practice, Harry," he said, expression now solemn over his teacup. "Tsere is no time limit on such an offer, but the earlier the better, that we might set a regular time for it. For now, you may remain here as long as you like, hm?" Another, brief smile, and when Harry was not forthcoming with a reply, Misslich merely nodded, summoning a scroll into his free hand to read while he took his tea.

Mysteriously, now that he knew he was free to leave, Harry supposed, _ I might as well stay for the rest of this tea. _

He took a sip.

It was delicious.

When Harry arrived at the library about twenty minutes later, Hermione was waiting for him in her usual spot. "So, what did Misslich want to talk to you about?" she asked, eyes bright. "Is it another Umbridge situation? Or worse, a Lockhart?"

"More like a Lupin," Harry admitted, pensive. "We had tea and biscuits and he offered me extra lessons to practice if I wanted. I haven't decided yet."

"Is it," Hermione spoke in an undertone, "to do with 'keeping order'?"

Harry shook his head, peering at the titles of the books stacked by her left elbow. "Doesn't seem like it. He just seems like he wants to help." Harry's lips quirked in a smile. "What a scandal: 'school teacher actually cares about students.'"

Hermione's bark of a laugh got them shushed by Madam Pince. They shared a grin, before packing up and heading down to the Great Hall after all.

As Ron and Hermione fell into their routine of bickering, which Harry dutifully tuned out, he picked at his food and let his mind wander back to the comfortable silence that had fallen over the professor’s office in the last few minutes. He wondered what tomorrow’s lecture would be like.


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday brought with it the reminder that Harry had qualified for NEWT Potions with Slughorn. He was still toying with the vial of Felix Felicis in his pocket when they reached the Defense classroom, but all thoughts of the Half-Blood Prince fell to the back of his mind as Harry took his seat in the front row yet again. Ron had cajoled Hermione into moving back one row so they could sit together; several of the unidentified Ravenclaws had taken up seats in the other front-row tables.

Misslich emerged from a door behind his lecture platform in pale blue robes of a similar cut to the white robes from yesterday. He had tied his hair back, Harry saw. "Good afternoon -- velcome to our first day of lecture. I preface today's topic with the information tsat no essay homework vill ever be assigned for this class: better to practice than to write, at your level! You vill see far better results in duelling on Wednesdays vith practice, und grades are assigned based first on effort in class.

"For those who ask, I  _ vill _ offer extra credit writing on ein individual basis during mein office hours."

"Office hours, Professor?" inquired a Hufflepuff.

Misslich gave a short nod. "Saturdays before lunch, Sundays between lunch und dinner. Appointments at other times by request. And now," he clasped his hands behind his back. "Magical theory."

The lights brightened again, marking -- Harry thought -- the actual beginning of class. Misslich had his head upturned a bit to look at them all, gaze roaming over the audience.

"Vhat," he began, "do books tell us about tse dark magic we are here to defend against? Definitions? Mister Macmillan?"

Ernie Macmillan was somewhere in the back, Harry remembered. "It's 'harmful magic,' in most books," the Hufflepuff offered.

Misslich huffed out a quiet laugh. "Quite unspecific, hm? Miss Bones?"

Susan Bones, from somewhere near Macmillan's seat, recited the Auror Office definition: "In Britain, 'harmful or otherwise dangerous magic made illegal under British law.'"

"Vhat ein broad definition," Misslich observed brightly, eyes wide. "Und I vill of course accept the answer if we talk only of British law; but in tse broader scope of things, it tells us  _ nichts _ about the characteristics of dark magic tsat ve might recognize it in the field." Misslich turned to the Slytherins, who had remained clustered on their side of the room. "Vhat have we missed so far? Miss Greengrass?"

"Dark magic subverts the will," the witch supplied hesitantly. Harry saw her brighten as the professor favored her with a small smile.

"Tsat is better," he praised, "but -- missing something. Vhat else? Miss Granger?"

From behind Harry: "Dark magic subverts the will, but specifically, forces upon the target the will of the caster."

"Very close, Miss Granger." Misslich's eyes were looking just over Harry's shoulder, now. They briefly met Harry's own before looking about the room again. "Ein excellent citation of  _ Magick Moste Evile--" _ Harry could tell Hermione flinched at being caught out--  _ "but! _ What vill help us recognize dark magic in use, if ve see it? Tsere is a key part of the definition missing so far. Do any of you know vhat it is?"

Harry opened his mouth without thinking. "It feels good for the caster," he said, recalling vividly the visions from Voldemort he'd gotten in the past: the satisfaction that bled through the link whenever the man cast the Cruciatus. He blinked away the memory to find Misslich looking at him again, smile broader than before.

_ "Sehr gut.  _ Ve have, now, two types of dark magic definitions: the legal definition in Britain, und tse  _ true  _ dark magic, mein specialty, vhich is known to cause euphoria. And so, mark the following definition of 'dark arts' for your notes, students: 'magic which enforces the caster's vill upon tse target'.

"Will," Misslich murmured, "is the foundation upon vhich  _ all _ magic is based -- but dark arts draw on it more heavily und reward the caster in vays tsat normal arts do not. When ve speak of 'dark magic addiction,' we speak of the weakening of a dark practitioner's vill as tsey fail to exercise restraint -- und lose themselves to the thrills, to tse pleasure, until tsey are no better than  _ animals. _ Und soon after tsat, they die."

_ Voldemort didn't die, though, _ Harry thought sourly. But the 'animal' part was kind of right. The man was utterly mad.

"By the end of tsis year, all of you vill be able to recognize dark arts und dark magic, whether you are defending yourself from them, or moderating your use of tsem--"

"Our  _ use!" _ a Hufflepuff cried. "Professor, dark arts are illegal!"

"Enough, Mr. Finch-Fletchley," said Misslich softly. "I do not take kindly to being interrupted, und I vill not sugarcoat mein lessons. Especially in your country, all of you vill likely encounter dark arts over the next few years -- preaching abstinence only perpetuates ignorance, und ignorance is  _ veakness. _ Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Justin quietly, subdued.

"So they really do teach dark arts at Durmstrang," Harry heard Ron mutter under his breath.

"I vill not defend some moral position on magic during class time," Misslich said firmly. "I am here to share mein knowledge, mein experience -- und tsat vill include exposing you all to dark arts, tsat you may learn from the exposure und master your will.

"Now," he conjured an armchair and seated himself in it, "I am told you all have seen the Unforgivables demonstrated two years ago?" Everyone nodded. "Vhat would have told you those spells were dark arts, if you did not know of them before tsat day? Vhat made them different than tse spells you already knew?"

"They were evil," Ron said simply.

Misslich gave a minute shake of the head. "A good try, Mister Weasley, but I ask of  _ mechanics _ , of  _ causes, _ not effects."

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "They had very simple wand movements!"

Now that Harry thought of it, that was true. He'd cast Crucio at Bellatrix without any real waving of his wand at all.

Misslich was smiling again. "Tsat is one important distinction, yes, Miss Granger. As ve explore a variety of dark arts, ve shall see that many have little to no motion involved at all. In spellcrafting, there is 'wand', 'word', und 'will' -- and 'wild' if we speak of Transfiguration. Dark arts lean heavily on the will; wand or word, or both, are neglected in favor of a  _ purity of desire _ that the chosen effect be produced.

"As first years, you learned the motions for the Levitating Charm, and the incantation; but you may notice that I and most adult wizards need neither to accomplish the same thing, and over time, you also have little need of the original charm -- because you are commmunicating your intent, your will, vithout word or wand. You come to expect magic to work as directed, und it does."

The professor made a small gesture with his wand, and colorful stones appeared in front of all of them in puffs of smoke. "Tsere are four charms on each of these stones," he said. "In no particular order -- one for color, one for size, one for weight, and one for a special effect. Focus your vill upon the stone und cast Finite Incantatem until all charms are undone -- you will know vhen tsat happens -- but you may not speak the incantation, hm?" Misslich leaned back in his conjured chair, fingers steepled, to watch them work.

"That was bloody hard," Ron said when class was over. "Hell, I only managed to fix the color." He glanced back at the door. "D’you think 'Mione will be very long? Should we wait for her?"

Hermione had, as Harry expected, been asked to stay behind after class. She had gotten a lot of attention toward the end when she'd managed to undo the last enchantment -- releasing a hidden cloud of heatless sparks like a firework into the air. When Misslich had passed by Harry on the way to see Hermione's results, he'd laid a small note on Harry's desk granting him permission to keep the stone until he'd finished disenchanting it. Harry had slipped his stone -- which was by this point no longer heavy, but still purple and small -- into the opposite pocket as the Felix Felicis and was playing with it idly in his hand now, while they walked to the library.

"She probably won't be very long," Harry promised Ron, thinking of yesterday. "Let's just wait for her at the usual table. Two Sickles it won't be more than thirty minutes."

It was, in fact, twenty-nine minutes later when Hermione sat down at their table and informed them, beaming, that she'd been given extra-credit work. "Only you would ask for more homework this early," Ron laughed. Hermione gave a fond roll of her eyes, swatting him lightly on the arm.

Harry took his stone out of his pocket and found it had ceased to be purple. "Oh, neat," he muttered under his breath. Louder, prodding the stone with his wand, he asked, "So what do you think we'll do in duelling tomorrow?"

"Nonverbal duelling, maybe?" Ron supposed. "It's what Fred and George did in sixth." Hermione nodded, flipping through a bookmarked section of  _ Hogwarts, A History _ (which was apparently one of the ten textbooks she kept in her pockets) to a page with a purple sticky-note. Harry tuned the both of them out as they compared the Defense topics from sixth year curricula in the past to the current one, focusing on his task with the stone.

What was it Misslich had said? Wand, word, will, and this was mostly will. Harry closed his eyes, keeping his wand pointed at the stone, and took a deep breath, imagining his will gathering in his chest.  _ And when I breathe out, it will push the enchantments away. _

"Harry! Look!" He blinked his eyes open at the excited sound of Hermione's voice.

A crown of silver laurels sat in front of him, on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misslich's explanation of "wand, word, will, and wild" is an overt reference to Lomonaaeren's _The Art of Self-Fashioning_: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5103614/chapters/11740079


	3. Chapter 3

Harry wore the crown to dinner.

He regretted giving in to the whim almost immediately: the muttering started almost the second he walked into the Great Hall, and didn’t die down at all over the course of the meal. But the momentary embarrassment at the attention, the annoyance that bubbled up within him at Malfoy’s jeers from the Slytherin table - all paled in comparison to the fierce personal joy that Harry derived from his own success, that prideful excitement that had prompted him to put it on in the first place. So despite it all, he was fighting back a grin all through the meal.

Midway through dessert, Hermione, who had been scrutinizing the crown ever since Harry revealed it, finally spoke up. “Ron, your brother’s brought things home from Gringotts a few times, hasn’t he?” The redhead nodded slowly, not sure where she was going with this. “Is it just me,” Hermione mused, “or does that crown look like goblin silver?”

Harry took it off and let them examine it. To their surprise, it really  _ was _ goblin-forged silverwork - and it wouldn’t have mattered, except that enchanting goblin metals was apparently notoriously difficult, and  _ Transfiguring _ them nearly impossible. “How did the Professor..?” Hermione muttered, tracing the fine filigree of a leaf with her finger.

The man in question was absent from the Great Hall, however; Harry vaguely recalled something about his office hours overlapping with the dinner hour on certain days of the week. What this meant was that Harry split off from the rest of the evening exodus outside the Great Hall and took a quieter route through Hogwarts’ halls, one which led him instead to the currently-closed door of Misslich’s office. He raised his hand to knock, only to hear the professor beckoning him inside.

When he’d closed the door behind him, Harry looked up to see Misslich poking at the flames of his fireplace; “Come in, come in,” he was saying, not looking up. “Vhat brings you..?” He stood, rolling his shoulders, and his eyes lit upon the crown, which Harry was still wearing - he smiled brightly. “Ah, I see you have finished vith the stone, Harry! Most excellent.” He brushed soot off his palms. “Vhat did you think of tse exercise? Here, sit, have tea, have ein biscuit-” Misslich bustled about the office, setting things down on the coffee table as he had done before.

Some part of Harry had anticipated the hospitality; he’d saved room from dessert, and took his seat and the refreshments offered without hesitation. “Once I got the hang of it, everything came together.” His returning smile started out shy, but broadened, the excitement of earlier bubbling over - Harry couldn’t restrain a small laugh. He covered his mouth with his hand in the next moment, sipping his tea, and peered up at Misslich through his eyelashes. “Hermione says you have her a writing assignment, sir?”

The firelight limned the professor’s silhouette in orange as he sat back in his chair with tea of his own. “Ja, Miss Granger is tse type who reads for practice. I had always found myself best at  _ doing _ , vhen I vas young, but to each according to their need, hm?”

“And from each according to their ability?” Harry wondered. Hermione had shared some of her notes on Muggle philosophy and modern history over the summer; that line had stuck with him.

Misslich shook his head, entertained. “Nein, Harry, I do not believe quite tsat far. Ve have no need to work ourselves to exhaustion in tsis age, for vhich I am  _ natürlich _ very grateful.”

Harry didn’t know much about philosophy, but he did know what working to exhaustion was like, and he nodded, reaching for another biscuit. After a moment of only slightly awkward silence, he pulled the laurels off and set them on the table. “I wanted to return the stone - erm, the crown - now that I’ve disenchanted it,” he supplied. “Thank you for letting me borrow it after class, sir.”

Wiping at his mouth with a small napkin, Misslich waved a dismissive hand, his bright blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Tsere is no need to vorry,” he assured Harry. “I would have been happy to wait until tomorrow.”

“Erm, speaking of tomorrow,” Harry began.

Misslich smiled into his teacup, eyes glittering in the firelight. He drained the cup, beaming at Harry with his mouthful of perfect teeth. “Ja,  _ Mittwoch _ duelling - the best day of any veek!”

“We’ve never had real duelling at Hogwarts,” Harry thought aloud, licking sweet chocolate crumbs off his lips. He certainly wasn’t about to count the disaster of second year.

“Yes, Albus said as much to me vhen I submitted tse schedule,” was Misslich’s thoughtful reply. He crossed one leg over the other. “Ein tragedy, but I have adjusted the curriculum to account for it.” A mischievous look came over the professor’s face. “You vould like to find out vhat tomorrow is bringing, hm?”

Harry had a feeling his cheeks had pinked enough at being caught fishing that denial was pointless. “Only what you would wish to tell me, sir,” he hedged.

That got him a laugh. “Und here I vas told Gryffindors could not be clever with words!” He leaned in conspiratorially. “I should not spoil all of tse surprise, ja? But for mein  _ lieblings _ student, I suppose, a hint is not so much to offer?” Misslich sat back again with a wink. “First vill be target practice und demonstration. Something of a test of strength. You vill see.”

Harry’s cheeks were a bit warm. “Ah, okay,” he agreed, averting his eyes to the fire. They passed a while in comfortable silence, until a bell sounded to mark imminent curfew; when Harry finally bade his professor farewell, leaving Misslich’s cozy office with three last biscuits wrapped in a white handkerchief, the rest of the castle felt winter-chilly in comparison.

Breakfast on Wednesday couldn’t end soon enough for Harry. If he’d thought he couldn’t be more excited for a class than he was for Defense  _ yesterday _ \- today proved him utterly wrong. He was practically vibrating in place outside the door to the classroom. “Relax, mate,” Ron elbowed him. “No one else is here yet.”

Misslich opened the door just as he said it, smiling down at the three of them as Harry led the rush in: only a quarter of the class had arrived yet, but he couldn’t dampen his enthusiasm as he saw what was beyond the door.

The classroom had changed completely since yesterday’s lecture. It was devoid of the long desks that had made it a lecture hall, now as empty as it had been in first year - Harry was now very sure this had been Fluffy’s room, from the sheer height of the ceiling. Dozens of targets were lined up against a far wall; coat-hooks and storage shelves were by the door, just as the Room of Requirement had arranged the DA clubroom last year. Harry found himself stowing his things in the top-right locker out of sheer force of habit, and he watched as other DA members among the rest of the class did the same. By the time the last students arrived, everyone had picked up on what to do without being asked.

Misslich, watching as keenly, shared a look with Harry at their antics. Many people had ended up staring at  _ Harry _ for instruction, until the professor - wearing pale red robes today, Harry saw; he must like light colors - moved to the center of the room to greet them all.

“Velcome, sixth years! I hope you have all had a filling breakfast; ve are beginning tse day with practice drills, und after lunch, tsere is to be open duelling. I am aware Hogwarts has not taught duelling properly in a very long time; have no fear, you are not being held to Durmstrang standards!” He laughed. “Ah… it has been years since I taught such new students as you all. I vill be so excited to see your strengths!”

By eleven-thirty, even Harry was exhausted, though his enthusiasm had not waned a bit. All of the sixth-years who made it to the Great Hall for lunch were flopping down into their seats and stuffing their faces, emptying the pitchers of water and pumpkin juice twice over. At the Hufflepuff table, Susan Bones was telling anyone who would listen how impressed she was, between gulps of juice, and how Misslich reminded her of the Auror Academy instructors she’d observed over the summer.

Ron half sprawled on the Gryffindor table, reaching for an apple to gnaw on. “Bloody hell, it’s like when the twins want to play Quidditch all day,” he complained, but he was grinning. “I thought it’d get boring, but it didn’t.”

“It reminds me a little of last year,” Hermione said to Harry, “but more strenuous. Do you think that Hufflepuff will be all right?” One of the witches in yellow had stumbled and fallen on her wand hand with a loud ‘crack’ and been escorted to the hospital wing.

Harry shrugged, taking bites of what seemed to be fried tomato. True to his hints, Misslich had started off the morning with target practice - he’d just neglected to mention the targets could move. Groups of students had been separated in turns to show the professor their skills at different spells, many below OWL level, before being sent back to the group combating increasingly hard-to-hit bulls-eyes. The impressed looks many of the non-DA members sent Harry’s way when he managed to Stun a particularly fast-moving, Snitch-sized blue sphere had him brimming with self-satisfaction.

“What did he say afternoons would be, again?” Ron asked, slumping upright. “Open duelling? D’you think we’re allowed to bet on it?”

“Ten Sickles on Harry,” Seamus called from down the table. “I don’t care what we’re betting on.”

“Duelling victories,” Ron called back.

“Twenty Sickles,” Seamus amended.

Harry glanced across the hall at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy and his group were muttering amongst each other and casting occasional glances in his direction. “If I do end up against Malfoy, bet in Galleons,” he told his friends. “I’m not letting any snakes get me down this time.”


End file.
